


Like Wild Violets on My Skin

by fluffyquill



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post Ritz, TW for minor descriptions of injuries, mentions of Heaven's abuse, post ep 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 10:23:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20338579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffyquill/pseuds/fluffyquill
Summary: Crowley had known about Heaven's mental abuse - that much had been clear.





	Like Wild Violets on My Skin

Lunch at the Ritz had been a lovely affair, not that Crowley would ever admit something he’d been party to as “lovely.”

By now, the sun had started to dip below the very top of the London skyline, casting shadows and interspersed beams of light between structures. Beside him, Aziraphale sighed happily as they strolled through Hyde Park, taking the long way back to Crowley’s flat. The trees rustled in the passing breeze, and they could hear children playing off in the distance.

“I’m glad we came this way,” the angel mused, glancing around at the other park goers. “Gives us a chance to appreciate what we accomplished.”

A small group of little girls whooped and laughed as they ran past them, carrying cardboard swords and wearing blanket capes. Crowley’s expression softened and he hummed in agreement.

All this, along with the rest of the world, would have been reduced to nothing but a charred cinder. All while Heaven and Hell satisfied their egos in an all-out bloodbath. 

It had come so very close, and everything that had happened within the last few days seemed like it had lasted ages. The sheer weight of it had since fallen off his shoulders and Crowley felt unbelievably _light_.

Feeling bold, he slid an arm around Aziraphale’s waist, tugging him closer to his side and pressing a light kiss to his hair.

“Crowley,” the angel fussed with a smile, pushing against him.

The demon chuckled and embraced him tighter.

“Ow ow _ow!_”

Aziraphale hissed, a sharp intake of breath that immediately made Crowley release him and move away.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” Aziraphale exclaimed, immediately regretting his outburst and quieting his voice. “It’s…It’s nothing.” He curled in on himself a little, fidgeting with his fingernails and looking like he wanted nothing more than to hide.

Crowley frowned. “You’re hurt. Somewhere. Show me.”

“Crowley, I don’t think now is the time to – ”

“Did they hurt you?”

“Who?”

“Whaddaya mean _who_? The demons, they – ”

He froze, remembering earlier when they’d been ambushed at St. James Park.

_“Stop! Stop them!”_

_“What’s wrong, love?”_

A heavy weight fell in his stomach.

“Hastur. Hastur, he – ”

Without even waiting for Aziraphale to reply, he stepped into the angel’s space and carefully palmed the back of the other’s head. Aziraphale froze, but made no indication of distress or resistance. Crowley grimaced as he turned the angel’s head and saw a rather impressive goose egg underneath the nest of riotous blonde curls. It was mottled black and blue, and there was a thin, red line where the crowbar had struck him.

Aziraphale sniffed. “It’s fine, Crowley. It’s healing already. I assure you that it looks worse than it is.”

However, there was a tension to his voice that made Crowley frown.

“There’s something else you’re not saying. Where else did they hurt you?”

“What? No! I’m fine, I swear. They didn’t touch me.”

Something in the demon’s chest ached at the fact that Aziraphale continued to withhold the truth from him. However, what he had seen of Heaven’s cold, clinical, and distant demeanor that passed for praise and acceptance, he wasn’t altogether surprised.

“Angel,” he said, keeping his voice low, “I swear to all that is precious in this world that I will strip you down right here in the middle of the street - _don’t test me_. Just show me where it hurts!”

The angel’s eyes widened, his expression unreadable. After a beat, he took hold of Crowley’s hands. There was a sudden flap of wings, and Crowley had to take a small step back as they landed in the hallway just outside his flat. 

“Wh – ”

“I thought that some more privacy would be prudent,” he replied, “And since we already were on our way here…”

Crowley nodded. It made sense.

“After you,” he said, opening the door and flicking his head towards the interior. Aziraphale beamed, walking over the threshold with a small bounce to his step. As they entered his office, the angel peered down the hallway to where the plants were basking in the sun and gave them a little wave.

“Don’t give them any ideas,” griped Crowley, setting his glasses on the desk. “And you’re trying to distract me.”

Massaging his temples, Crowley looked up. The tense lines around Aziraphale’s eyes had faded and his expression had gone soft.

“Wot?” he sneered.

“Nothing,” Aziraphale replied, smiling, “It’s just… I don’t get to see your eyes much anymore. Missed it, I guess. Always loved the color.”

“You’re deflecting again,” Crowley observed, though his face was suspiciously pink. “Just show me where they hurt you.”

Chewing on his lower lip, the angel removed his coat and set it on the back of Crowley’s ostentatiously ornate chair. Carefully, he began to unbutton the front of his vest. The serpent could taste his companion’s rising anxiousness, could see the slight tremor in his fingers. But based on how Aziraphale reacted to Crowley’s movements, the angel wasn’t afraid of _him_.

Crowley was going to rip the culprit apart.

“You know,” he drawled, “I imagined this – ” He motioned suggestively at Aziraphale. “ – going down in a _very_ different fashion.”

With a scoff, Aziraphale grinned and threw his bowtie at him. However, the tension had dissipated, as Crowley had intended.

“Foul fiend.”

The demon smirked back.

“The foulest.”

As Aziraphale started to remove his shirt, he paused, fidgeting with the collar. Taking a deep breath, he made quick work of the little buttons, untucking the rest of the shirt and revealing the bare skin beneath.

Spread across his middle was a deep purple bruise.

Anger rose up from the pit of Crowley’s stomach, hot and acidic, like a cobra spitting venom. However, he remained resolutely silent, which seemed to convey his displeasure more than his words ever could.

“Who?” he growled.

“Sandalphon. Stronger than he looks.”

Angels then. Not demons.

He was almost afraid to touch, but at Aziraphale’s approving nod, Crowley skimmed the tips of his fingers over the mark. Sections of Sandalphon’s fist were easily visible. Had Aziraphale been a mortal man, Crowley would have whisked him to the nearest hospital for fear of internal damage.

Just off the mark’s center, yellowed edges outlined an imprint left by the angel’s ring. Crowley could almost make out the winged crest. Vaguely, he wondered how long it would take him to break every bone in the bastard’s hands. And then the rest of his body.

“When did he have the time to get the jump on you? Was it after you left Hell?”

“It happened yesterday,” Aziraphale replied, “Shortly after you came back to ask me to run away with you. Again.”

Crowley’s gaze fell.

“Outside the shop.”

“Yes.”

“Before the fire.”

“Yes. Before I…”

The demon turned his head away, willing away the memories of the bookshop going up in the flames and the all-consuming grief he’d felt at Aziraphale’s disappearance. Aziraphale reached up, gently turning Crowley’s face back towards him. With a tender sigh, he closed his eyes and nuzzled his partner’s cheek. The familiar scent of Crowley’s aftershave and the wine they’d shared filled his nose, bringing him a sense of comfort.

“But I’m here now.”

Crowley swallowed thickly. “Yeah.” He rested his forehead against his, and their eyes met.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Aziraphale shook his head.

“That’s all. Truly. Uriel and Michael got a bit intimidating, but nothing awful.”

Crowley’s jaw ticked, like he was trying to keep from vaulting into another verbal tirade. Instead, he sniffed, caressing the side of the angel’s head. His fingers trailed over the edge of the bump.

“Should get you some ice for that.”

“It’s really not necessary, dear boy. As I said, it’s already healing.”

“If this was from before you…” Crowley stopped himself short, pointing at the angel’s stomach. “Shouldn’t it have… y’know? Healed up? After Adam fixed you?”

Aziraphale looked thoughtful.

“You know, I’m not sure. I guess it left a mark on more than just my corporeal form.”

The demon met Aziraphale’s eyes.

“And they’ll never do it again. They’ll have to get through me first if they even think they can touch you.”

Aziraphale leaned against him, their noses brushing.

“Indeed.”

Then, a small, almost devilish smile quirked at the corners of his mouth.

“And to be perfectly honest – ”

Crowley snorted. “There’s a start.”

“ – I can think of some other marks I’d prefer to have left on me.”

The demon balked.

“If you get my meaning,” Aziraphale finished, tilting his head slightly. Crowley was certain that his face was now as red as his hair. But something deep in his chest purred at the pale stretch of the angel’s neck, an utter display of trust and relinquishment of control. Nuzzling the exposed skin, Crowley delighted in the almost imperceptible shudder that passed through the angel’s frame.

“Are you quite sure?” he asked, trailing his lips just above the pulse point.

“Mm, very. Were you serious about wanting to strip me down in the middle of the street?”

He mock-gasped. “Aziraphale, wher_ever_ did you acquire sssssuch unholy notions?”

Aziraphale giggled and squirmed at Crowley’s warm breath ghosting over the fine hairs of his nape.

“But I want it to be just you,” the angel breathed, “Us. Here.”

Crowley smiled. “I suppose that I… that I could be…”

“…tempted?” Aziraphale’s expression bordered on coy. Crowley playfully nipped at his nose, hooking his fingers into the waist of the angel’s trousers.

“Cheeky bastard.”

“So I’m told."

**Author's Note:**

> And then they made out like a couple of teenagers in Crowley's kitchen.
> 
> I really like addressing the different kinds of abuse that both Crowley and Aziraphale experience. It's so sneaky and layered and I love the complexity of it. There are a couple of good posts on Tumblr about how the angels who run Heaven are about as bad as the demons who run Hell; they're just more underhanded in their methods. But, I gotta try to keep it from going too far into Angst Valley!
> 
> Cheers to all you lovelies!


End file.
